Do you like shoveling snow? Then stop reading this and go back to your pushups and granola because you are not someone that I want to talk to.

Let’s face it, we live in a place that attracts snow like Magnetic Hill attracts cars, only that ain’t an illusion out there. That’s 12 inches of snow piling up and, oh, what’s that sound? Why it’s the snow plow and it’s here to let you know that it hates you and all the time you spent to shovel your driveway. Did you want to get out of your house today? Were you expecting to get to work on time? Or even this week?

You gave it your best shot. You tried to shovel by yourself and I respect you for that. I did it, my parents did it, some of my best friends did it. But deep down inside, we all wanted to murder that neighbor with the snowblower who was finished and on his second beer while you were still trying to throw snow over a snowbank taller than you are.

So, here we are. You could murder your neighbour, which could ensure that you won’t need to shovel a driveway for 25 to life, but there are downsides to that too. What to do?

Here’s the deal. I have a snow blower and I want you to own it. I can tell you’re serious about this. It’s like I can almost see you: sitting there, your legs are probably crossed and your left hand is on your chin. Am I right? How’d I do that? The same way that I know that YOU ARE GOING TO BUY THIS SNOWBLOWER.

I want you to experience the rush that comes with smashing through a snowdrift and blowing that mother trucker out of the way. The elation of seeing the snow plow come back down your street and watching the look of despair as your OTHER neighbour gets his shovel out once more while you kick back with a hot cup of joe (you don’t have a drinking problem like that other guy).

Here’s what you do. You go to the bank. You collect $900. You get your buddy with a truck and you drive over here. You give me some cold hard cash and I give you a machine that will mess up a snowbank sumthin’ fierce. I’ve even got the manual for it, on account of I bought it brand new and I don’t throw that kind of thing away. Don’t want to pay me $900? Convince me. Send me an offer and I’ll either laugh at you and you’ll never hear back from me or I’ll counter.

You want a snow blower. You need a snow blower.

This isn’t some entry level snow blower that is just gonna move the snow two feet away. This is an 11 HP Briggs and Stratton machine of snow doom that will cut a 29 inch path of pure ecstasy. And it’s only 4 years old. I dare you to find a harder working 4 year old. My niece is five and she gets tired and cranky after just a few minutes of shoveling. This guy just goes and goes and goes.

You know what else? I greased it every year to help keep the water off it and the body in as good as shape as possible. It’s greasier than me when I was 13, and that’s saying something.

You know how many speeds it has? Six forward and two in reverse. It goes from “leisurely” slow up to “light speed”. Seriously, I’ve never gone further than five because it terrifies me. I kid you not, you could probably commute to work with it dragging you.

You know what else is crappy about clearing snow in the morning? That you have to do it in the dark. Well, not anymore! It has a halogen headlight that will light your way like some kind of moveable lighthouse (only better, because lighthouses won’t clear your driveway).

Oh, and since it’s the 21st century, this snow blower comes with an electric starter. Just plug that sucker in, push the button, and get ready to punch snow in the throat. If you want to experience what life was like in olden days, it comes with a back-up cord you could pull to start it, but forget that. The reason you’re getting this fearsome warrior was for the convenience, so why make it harder on yourself?

By this point, you’re probably wondering why I would sell my snowblower since the first snowpocalypse is upon us today. I’ll tell you why: because I heard it was time for you to man up and harness some mighty teeth and claws and chew your way to freedom, that’s why.

This is my snow blower. Make it your snow blower.

Doug Moe: Poutine to kabobs, Miller Park is back on right culinary trackDoug Moe: Poutine to kabobs, Miller Park is back on right culinary track
DOUG MOE | dmoe@madison.com | 608-252-6446 madison.com | 1 Comment | Posted: Wednesday, March 2, 2011 6:50 am

I am pleased to report that not everything in the world is going haywire.

In one important area — food at Major League Baseball parks — sanity is being restored.

I base that statement on the news last month that the Milwaukee Brewers are adding two items to the menu at Miller Park this season, and neither of them is foie gras.

A decade ago, when Miller Park opened, the Brewers announced a menu that included coconut shrimp with teriyaki sauce and a balsamic-marinated portobello mushroom sandwich.

To some of us, that seemed like an assault on the natural order of things, or at least on the beloved bratwurst, which has long been the centerpiece of fine dining at the ballpark.

This season, the Brewers got it right, maybe because they put it to a vote of the fans.

The winner of the Brewers’ “Create a Concession” contest was Courtney Ring of Sauk City, whose concoction — “Klement’s famous racing sausage kabobs” — will feature pieces of a hot dog and four sausages (Italian, Polish, chorizo and brat) on a kabob stick.

I only wish they thought to name the item for Mandy Block, who became a hero in my eyes in 2003. Block was dressed as an Italian sausage during the Miller Park sausage race when she was knocked down by Pittsburgh Pirates first baseman Randall Simon, who tapped her with his bat.

Block stunned the world by declining to file a lawsuit. Instead, she laughed, and asked Simon only for an autographed bat, which he provided. Brewers fans began wearing T-shirts that read “Don’t whack our wiener!”

The Brewers are adding a second menu item this season — again by fan vote — that made me nervous when I heard its name: poutine.

I had never heard of poutine, but it sounds like a French pastry.

Happily, it is instead french fries topped with cheese curds and covered with brown gravy — you know, health food.

To get further word on ballparks and ballpark food last week, I called Harry Argue, a former banking executive and retired president of the Graduate School of Banking at UW-Madison.

In the fall, Argue and his son, Brad, completed an adventure that involved seeing a game in all 30 major league ballparks across the country.

In 2005, father and son planned a “six games in six days” tour of the East Coast that included a memorable Memorial Day in Boston’s Fenway Park when the Tuskegee Airmen were honored on the field.

They had so much fun they decided to try for all 30.

They saw a World Series game in freezing temperatures in Detroit in 2006, and saw Brewers star Ryan Braun get his first major league hit in a game in San Diego in 2007.

They were in the new Yankee Stadium in New York on Independence Day last summer.

Harry sent me a copy of his and Brad’s written reflections on the parks, and it reminded me of an updated, more concise version of Robert Wood’s 1989 classic book “Dodger Dogs to Fenway Franks: The Ultimate Guide to America’s Top Baseball Parks.”

Wood was a Michigan high school teacher who in 1985 visited all 26 major league parks and rated them on everything from layout and upkeep to food. (Wood gave Milwaukee — then County Stadium — an A+ on food, with special notice to the bratwurst).

Harry Argue lives with his wife, Linda, in Middleton. He said they are frequent visitors to spring training in Arizona — this is a family that really loves baseball.

When we spoke last week, Harry mentioned the parks he liked best: Nationals Park in Washington, D.C., and PNC Park in Pittsburgh, though “Miller Park doesn’t have to apologize to anybody.”

Harry laughed and said Brad, who now lives in Wauwatosa, is more dedicated to sampling the food at the parks.

Among Brad’s favorites: the soft pretzels at Progressive Field in Cleveland; the barbecue at Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City; and the Skyline Chili at Cincinnati’s Great American Ballpark.

Harry said in 2012, father and son will go to Florida, when a new stadium for the Marlins is scheduled to open.

In the meantime, why not a trip to Miller Park to sample the poutine?

Contact Doug Moe at 608-252-6446 or dmoe@madison.com. His column appears Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.

Anyway #1: While reading books before bed one night my little Reese looks at me and says “Daddy, I have something for you…..It’s in My butt” I say “what” and she then pulls out a fork (Gerber kids kind) out of the back of her PJ pants like nothing was the matter and kindly hands it over to me. I ask “why did you take your fork from dinner and hide it in your pants”? She replies, “I dunno, I didn’t want to wash it”!

Gizznat